Taken
by Doug4422
Summary: AU Based off the Liam Neeson movie of the same name. Kim comes up missing during a vacation in Paris, can Ron find her before time runs out?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I _**DO**__**NOT**_ own the rights to Kim Possible, or any of the characters contained herein, Kim Possible, and all related characters are the property of Disney Entertainment, the storyline is mine, I make no profit from this.

**Taken**

Starring

**Kim Possible**

_**While on vacation in Paris, Kim is kidnaped**_, _**and Ron is her only hope of returning home, is he up to the task? Read and find out.**_

**Prologue**

Ron Stoppable sat carefully looking at the picture in front of him, it was the picture of his best friend, the love of his life, and fiancee, Kim Possible. Ron was still over the moon about her accepting his proposal earlier that evening, when he had taken her out to one of the finest restaurants in Los Angeles, paid all cash, and wowed her with a 24 carat gold and diamond engagement ring.

"Man, I have to be the luckiest man in the world." Ron stated, smiling both inwardly, and outwardly.

Ron had recently retired from his job within the United States Government, as a Preventer, a person who is specifically trained to stop terrorist activities before they get started. Ron's training made him into the ultimate killing, and interrogating machine, virtually unstoppable, and very at home in any environment, Ron had finished his last mission only a week beforehand, and he was now finally able to marry the girl of his dreams, settle down, and look toward raising a family of his own.

Ron's only problem is that he had no idea that his now perfect world would soon come falling down around his ears, and the training he has tried so hard for a week to forget will all be put to the ultimate test of both his willpower, his sanity, and his trust of old friends.


	2. Chapter 1: Easy Assignment

**Chapter 1**

**Easy Assignment**

_**Lick It Up**_

_by_

_**KISS**_

_Yeah, yeah,_

_Don't wanna wait 'till you know me better,_

_Let's just be glad for the time together,_

_Life's such a treat and it's time you taste it,_

_There ain't no reason at all to waste it, it ain't a crime to be good to yourself,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, oohhh, ooohhh, oh, It's only right now,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhhh, ohhh, ohhh, ooo yeah,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, ohh, c'mon, c'mon,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh,_

_Don't need to wait for an invitation,_

_You got to live like you're on vacation,_

_It's something sweet, you can always want it,_

_Lick it up, whoo, lick it up,_

_It's all you need, so believe me, honey, it ain't a crime to be good to yourself,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh, it's only right now,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh, ohhhh yeah, yeah,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh, c'mon, c'mon,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh, __**COME ON!**_

_It's only right now,_

_It's only right now,_

_Ohhh, yeah, ohhh yeah, ohhh yeah, ohhh yeah, __**YEAH, YEAH!**_

_Oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, __**WHEW!**_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh, it's only right now,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh, __**YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!**_

_Lick it up, lick it up, ohhh, ohhh, oh, c'mon, c'mon,_

_Lick it up, lick it up, __**YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!**_ _**OW! WHEW!**_

Ron was sitting in the living room of his apartment when he heard a knocking at the door, he walked to it, and opened it, to find three of his old friends from his government days standing at the door.

"What happened, did you forget, Ron-man?" Brick Flagg asked, looking at the man who dragged his fat out of the fire on more than one occasion.

"What are you talking about, Brick?" Ron asked the tall, well built blonde, who he now recognized, was holding a grocery bag, filled with celery, and red wine.

"Oh, come on, Ron, don't tell me you forgot," Steve Barkin explained, now looking at Ron carefully, "what happens when we're in Los Angeles, red meat, red wine, did you forget the drill already?"

"Damn," Ron cursed, "I'm sorry guys, I did forget, got a lot on my mind now."

"Like what?" Josh Mankey asked.

"Like me and Kim, getting engaged." Ron replied to the shocked faces present.

"_**YOU'RE JOKING?!**_" Brick said aloud.

"Nope . . . asked her last night." Ron replied, as he led the group of friends to the patio, and fired up his grill.

"It's about time, if you ask me . . . I mean, how long have you two been dating? Since High School?" Josh asked.

"About that." Ron replied.

"If you ask me, you waited just a little too long, Ron." Barkin stated plainly.

"Well, enough about my personal life . . . you three don't usually come here unless you got something coming down the pike, what is it this time?" Ron asked, getting right down to business.

"Uh-uh." Brick stated calmly, "you know the deal, dinner first."

"Oh alright, you guys are always wanting to mooch my grill for this kind of stuff anyway." Ron replied, now checking to see if the grill was hot enough, he then placed some very delicious sirloin steaks on the grill, and began cooking.

_Fifteen minutes later:_

The friends were sitting on lounge chairs on the patio, drinking a glass of red wine each, as Barkin finally looked to Ron, and began to speak.

"We got a call from the manager of some big shot musician, wants us to work security for her concert here in Los Angeles." he stated, still looking at the young man to his left.

"Man, I'm retired, guys, c'mon." Ron replied.

"True, but Renton couldn't make this one, so, we're one short, it'll be an easy assignment, Ron, it's not like we're going into Beirut again, right?" Josh stated.

"Hey, don't pin that one on me." Ron replied.

"Yeah, but you were the one that decided to hop a plane back to Middleton because it was Kim's birthday." Brick responded.

"And you know I've never missed KP's birthday." Ron replied.

"Yeah, and the director wasn't happy with you flying 9000 miles back to the states either." Barkin replied.

"Okay, okay . . . you got me, but only one dance." Ron replied, smiling.

"Okay, meat us at the Beverly Palm Hotel, five o'clock sharp tomorrow." Josh stated.

"No problem, Josh, and keep your head down this time, huh?" Ron replied, giving Josh a wry smile.

_

* * *

_

_Five o'clock the following afternoon:_

Ron walked into the Beverly Palm Hotel on time. Looking at his wristwatch, he noticed that the others were late.

"I do hope they didn't leave me hanging." Ron sighed, looking around, that's when he caught sight of Brick Flagg, walking toward him.

"About time you got here, Ron." Brick stated.

"What do you mean, I'm on time, for once." Ron replied.

"You mean all the time . . . we're just waiting on Josh . . . I swear, that guy's always late . . . wonder who he's sleeping with this time?" Brick replied, shaking his head, as Josh came running through the lobby door, his hair disheveled, and his face in bad need of a razor.

"Damn, man, you look like you had a rough night in Baghdad." Ron stated.

"Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious." Josh replied, in a very tired voice.

"What happened, Josh, oversleep . . . again?" Barkin asked, now walking out of the elevator, with Britina directly behind him.

"Hey, Britina, what's up?" Ron asked, looking at the young woman he helped twice when he and Kim worked as a team in High School.

"Oh, same old thing, Ron . . . you're one of my bodyguards tonight?" Britina asked, smiling.

"Sure am." Ron replied.

"Cool." Britina stated, smiling as they headed for a set of two Cadillac Esclades parked in front of the lobby doors.

* * *

_At the Staples Center:_

The arrival went smoothly, as Ron, and his friends settled into the green room, located near the stairs that led up to the stage, they were playing cards, and relaxing, when Ron's cell phone went off.

"Uh-oh . . . gotta take it, it's Kim." Ron stated, looking at the caller ID.

"Oh, sure, no problem." Brick stated, a slightly sarcastic tone to his voice.

"Go right ahead." Josh added, with the same slightly sarcastic tone to his voice.

"Assholes." Ron replied, as he walked out of the door. The three remaining men in the room began laughing.

"What's up, KP?" Ron asked.

"I thought we were going to have dinner tonight, Ron?" Kim asked.

"Oh shit . . . sorry, Kim . . . I forgot . . . I got pulled away for extra security at a concert tonight." Ron replied.

"The Britina concert at the Staples Center?" Kim asked.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Ron asked.

"Because I can hear the music." Kim replied.

"Sorry, Kim . . . but it's an easy 20 large." Ron replied.

"Alright, but you owe me big for this one, Ron Stoppable, and you'd better deliver, or your little friend will definitely be serving solo duty tonight." Kim replied.

"No problem, Kim . . . lunch tomorrow?" Ron asked.

"Sure, where?" Kim asked.

"How about that little bistro near your office?" Ron asked.

"Deal . . . as long as you're buying." Kim replied.

"You bet," Ron stated, a smile coming to his voice, "12:30 be okay?"

"Of course . . . see you then, babe." Kim replied, a sultry edge to her voice.

"I'll be there." Ron stated.

"Love you, hon . . . bye." Kim stated.

"Love you too." Ron replied, hanging up the phone, and cutting off the connection.

When Ron walked back into the green room, he was instantly heckled by his friends.

"So, Ron . . . when's the wedding?" Brick asked.

"Any ideas on the honeymoon?" Josh said, with a laugh in his voice.

"Hey, Ron . . . hope you got your little friend ready to go, because I heard that the first night of the honeymoon can get a little steamy." Barkin stated, a hint of mirth to his voice.

"Oh, you guys are just a barrel of laughs, you know that, right?" Ron replied, sitting down.

"We're just joking with you, Ron," Brick stated, "besides, Bonnie would kill me if we didn't put in an appearance at your wedding."

"So, when is it?" Josh asked.

"June 15th." Ron replied.

"Five months away, nice planning, Ron." Barkin replied, smiling, and thumping Ron on the back.

"Thanks, Mr. B." Ron replied, making the older gentleman smile.

* * *

_At the end of the concert:_

Britina walked down the stairs carefully, so as not to fall, wearing three inch spike heels, it would be an easy way to break a leg. She walked up to her manager, and gave him a big hug, before being led by Barkin, and Josh through the small knot of people, and toward Ron, who was waiting to escort her to her waiting car.

It was all going smoothly, until the sound of a latch being opened caught Barkin's attention. He spun around quickly to see that a gate that should've been locked was now wide open, and letting in the crowd from the arena floor on the other side.

"Who the hell opened that gate? Ron, get her out of here, you got the lead." Barkin shouted, as he looked at Ron, who quickly got the message, and began leading Britina toward the rear exit.

"Come on, Ron . . . they're my fans." Britina stated, smiling.

"Yeah, and Rebecca Schaefer was killed by one of her fans, if you get my meaning." Ron replied, referring to the tragedy of an actress that was killed in front of her home by a deranged fan.

"Okay, okay, I got it." Britina replied, allowing herself to be ushered out of the building, but something made her stop rather quickly, as she was pushed aside, she caught a flash of something, but that flash was all she saw.

Within seconds, Ron had pushed Britina out of the way, and against the wall beside her, as Ron grabbed a knife, with a hand still attached to it, he pulled hard, and a young man came lunging out of the shadows, Ron then pushed his entire body weight into the man, and doubled up his right hand, connecting with the back of his hand against the young man's jaw, causing him to expose a 12 inch long Bowie knife. Ron then acted fast, grabbing the young man both above, and below the elbow, and in a very quick movement, he twisted the young man's arm around, breaking the bones above, and below the elbow joint cleanly, he then took his left hand, placed it at the base of the young man's neck, spun him around, and took him to the floor.

"_**BRICK!!**_" Ron screamed out, as he had the young man held down to the floor with one knee.

Brick came running in at the sound of his name, and Ron quickly took Britina to the car, jumped into the back seat, and closed the door. The car took off for the hotel at a high rate of speed, followed by two police cars, one in front, and one in back.

Inside of the car, Ron grabbed a can of orange juice, and handed it to Britina.

"Here, drink this, the sugar will help take the edge off the shock." Ron explained, handing Britina the can. She took a very timid sip from the can.

"Come on, come on, more." Ron replied, tipping the orange juice back a little more.

Britina took a large gulp from the can, moved it away from her face, and began to break down in tears.

"It's okay . . . it's alright." Ron stated, taking Britina into his arms to comfort her.

"Shh . . . it's okay . . . it's all over." Ron said soothingly.

* * *

_Later on, at the hotel:_

"Brick . . . Josh . . . _Rambo_." Barkin stated, handing out plain manila envelopes to the three men, as Ron got his last.

"Come on, Ron, why don't you go with us, you still got the touch, and there's more of this to be had." Brick stated, holding up his envelope full of money.

"No, Brick . . . you know the reason why I retired, let's leave it at that." Ron replied.

"Well, We'll be paying a visit in you soon, bud." Josh stated, thumping Ron on the back, as the group of friends began leaving, as Ron turned to walk away, a voice caught his attention.

"Mr. Stoppable . . ." said a young man, who was sticking his head out of Britina's suite door, "she wants to talk to you."

Ron turned, and walked back into the room, as Britina walked in, wearing a white terry cloth robe over her shoulders, it was knotted shut in front, and she was carrying Ron's black leather trenchcoat.

"Here." She said, handing Ron back his coat, smiling.

"Thanks." Ron replied.

"How's Kim these days . . . ever since she retired . . ." Britina asked, looking at Ron.

"Oh, she's doing fine," Ron replied, "works as an Exchange Officer at a bank here in LA." Ron replied.

"Good . . . hey, listen, does she still want to be a singer?" Britina asked.

"Yeah." Ron replied.

"You know, it's not what everyone thinks it is . . . after the glam wears off, it's a lot of hotel rooms, and airports." Britina replied.

"It's what she wants." Ron replied.

"Well, if it's what she wants, then take this," Britina said, pushing a business card into Ron's hands, "the top number is Gio, my vocal coach, if he says she can sing, then she can sing, the bottom number is my manager, Mark, if Gio clears her, Mark will make sure she gets a shot."

"Thanks." Ron stated.

"No, Ron . . . thank you." Britina stated, leaning on tip toes and kissing Ron on the cheek.

* * *

_Chapter 1 of a brand new story, and yes, folks, this is based off the Liam Neeson movie of the same name, a very good flick, but it's based more on the unrated version of the movie, rather than the theatrical version, so, sit back, and watch, as things start happening, and we see a side of Ron that few know he possesses._

_As always, please review,_

_**Doug**_


	3. Chapter 2: Expect The Unexpected

**Chapter 2**

**Expect The Unexpected**

_**Night Moves**_

_by_

_**Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band**_

_Was a little too tall, could've used a few pounds,_

_Tight pants, points, hollerin' out,_

_She was a black haired beauty with big dark eyes,_

_With points on her own, sittin' way up high,_

_Way up firm, and high,_

_Out past the corn fields where the woods got heavy,_

_Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy,_

_Workin' on mysteries without any clues,_

_Workin' on our night moves,_

_Tryin' to make some front page jive in the news,_

_Workin on our night moves,_

_In the summertime, mmm_

_In the sweet . . . summertime,_

_We weren't in love, oh no far from it,_

_We were just searchin' for some pie in the sky summer,_

_We were just young and restless and bored, livin' by the sword,_

_And we'd steal away, every chance we could,_

_To the back rooms, alleys, or the trusty woods,_

_I used her, she used me, but neither one cared,_

_We were gettin' our share,_

_Workin' on our night moves,_

_Tryin' to lose those awkward teenage blues,_

_Workin' on our night moves, mmm_

_And it was summertime, mmm_

_Sweet, summertime, summertime,_

_Oh, wonderin',_

_Felt the lightning, yeah,_

_Waited on the thunder,_

_**WAITED ON THE THUNDER!**_

_Woke last night to the sound of thunder,_

_How far off . . . I sat and wondered,_

_Started hummin' a song from 1962,_

_Ain't it funny how the night moves,_

_When you just don't seem to have as much to lose,_

_Strange how the night moves,_

_With autumn closin' in,_

_Mmm, mmm,_

_Night moves._

The next afternoon, as promised, Ron met Kim at a small corner bistro near the office building where she worked.

"Pull up a chair, hon, haven't ordered yet, figured you might want to try something else." Ron stated, holding out a menu for Kim, and smiling as the lithe redhead took her seat across from him, smiling brightly, as the diamond engagement ring sparkled on her finger.

"Actually, Ron, I need to talk to you for a minute." Kim stated, suddenly becoming all business.

"What about?" Ron asked, feeling his heart slip a couple of inches into his stomach.

"Well . . . my dear boss thinks I need to go to some conference overseas." Kim replied, lifting Ron's fears that she was going to call off their engagement.

Even though engaged, Kim and Ron had yet to move in together. Mostly it was Ron's idea, as he still had stuff at his apartment he had yet to turn into the government when he retired. Therefore, Kim lived in an apartment close to Beverly Hills, while Ron lived more near Universal City, in a townhouse style apartment, they did both agree that when married, they would move into the townhouse, mainly because Ron didn't like the landlord of the two apartment building, mainly because Ron thought he was a bit of a sleeze, with all of the shady business he had.

"Overseas? Overseas where?" Ron asked.

"Paris." Kim replied, smiling somewhat.

"Paris, huh . . . very interesting," Ron stated, then, thinking, he continued, "but in all reality, Kim, what part of Paris will you be staying in?"

"Oh, there's an apartment that Pam owns over there . . . you know Pam, the blonde from Accounting?" Kim stated.

"Yeah, the one that Josh says has the curves that just don't quit?" Ron asked.

"That's the one," Kim laughed, "anyway, we'll be staying there, it's close to the Champs Elysees, so, it's right in the heart of downtown."

"Well, I don't have to tell you to be careful there, there's some pretty unsavory characters that run around the streets at night." Ron replied.

"Oh, yeah, I'll make sure no one even thinks of trying anything with me. They do, and they'll lose a hand." Kim replied, smiling a wry smile.

"And what does your taskmaster of a landlord think about it all?" Ron asked, remembering the last time Kim went on a business trip.

Kim had left for London on a business trip a year earlier, and when she returned, her landlord had changed the locks on her apartment, placed all of her things in storage, and rented the apartment to someone else. Needless to say, it took a bit of "_gentle_" persuasion from Ron for her to finally move back into the apartment, with all of her stuff placed where it once was.

"Who gives a damned what Jack Edwards thinks, he's my landlord, not my father." Kim replied, a disgusted look on her face.

"You remember what happened last time, don't you?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I'm not about to forget, and if I remember, you sent the man to the hospital with a broken nose, two broken ribs, a shattered jaw, and about seven teeth missing." Kim replied, rattling off the injuries that Ron had inflicted on the man after their little "_talk_".

"Actually, it was four teeth, and three crowns." Ron replied, smiling sheepishly.

"Who cares about particulars?" Kim commented, smiling as well.

"Does he still speak with a lisp?" Ron asked, smiling.

"What do you think? With a reconstructed jaw? Of course, he does." Kim replied.

"Anyway, Kim . . . just do me one favor?" Ron asked.

"Anything, babe." Kim replied.

"Be careful . . . and call me when you land . . . you have my cell number, it's international, so, no problems." Ron stated.

"Of course." Kim replied.

"When's the plane leave?" Ron asked.

"Tomorrow morning." Kim commented, "Air France, flight 401."

"I'll take you to the airport, give me a call, and I'll pick you up at your place." Ron replied.

* * *

_The next morning:_

Ron arrived at the front door of the apartment house an hour early, waiting on Kim, he walked into the building, and saw Kim's landlord, eavesdropping at Kim's door.

"Find anything interesting to listen to?" Ron asked, now standing over the man.

The man stood up quickly, and spun on his heel.

"What the fuck are you doin' 'ere?" the man asked, speaking with a somewhat raspy voice.

"Why I'm here isn't important, that I caught you spying on my fiancee is." Ron stated, now drawing closer.

"Don' come anodder step closer." the man stated.

"Then you'd better get out of my sight." Ron replied, as Kim came to the door, her roommates Tara, and Mike were following her to the door.

"Send us a postcard, Kim." Tara replied cheerily, waving as Kim walked out the door, the landlord took the cue to quickly disappear before Kim turned around, and came face-to-face with Ron.

"Hey, hon . . . ready to go?" she asked.

"Sure am." Ron replied, smiling widely.

* * *

_At the airport:_

Kim walked into the airport, and met up with her co-worker at the gate.

Pamela Sparks was indeed a very beautiful woman, with long, waist length blond hair, and stunning blue eyes, with a body that would make married men cry at the fact that she wasn't their wife.

"Thought you weren't gonna make it." Pam stated, as Kim checked her luggage.

"Hardly . . . got held up at the gate." Kim replied, pulling a stun gun from under her denim jacket, and placing it into the last suitcase before it was loaded onto the carousel, and sent for loading.

"Got window seats, Kim . . . this is gonna be good." Pam stated, excitement filling her words.

"How's your French?" Kim asked.

"_Tres bien_." Pam replied, speaking French.

"Good, because I can't speak a word of it." Kim stated flatly.

"What about Ron, couldn't he teach you?" Pam asked.

"He tried, I just couldn't pick it up, but, Ron's a good study of languages . . . the man knows just about every language in the world." Kim stated, pointing out one of Ron's many skills developed during his career with the government.

"He used to work for the government, didn't he?" Pam asked.

"Sure did, he was a Preventer." Kim replied.

"What did he prevent?" Pam asked.

"Bad things from happening." Kim replied.

"How long did he work for the government?" Pam asked.

"Six years." Kim answered.

"He retired kind of young, didn't he?" Pam asked.

"He did, but there was reason for that." Kim replied.

"If you don't mind me asking, what was the reason?" Pam asked.

"I was part of it, he wanted to start his own family, and it was with me." Kim stated.

"What was the other part?" Pam asked.

"He took one in the shoulder to try and save a friend." Kim stated.

"PTSD?" Pam asked.

"No . . . Ron decided it was time to retire, and leave while his health was still in tact." Kim stated, a kind of sad smile on her face.

"What happened to his friend?" Pam asked.

"Paralyzed from the waist down, for the rest of his life." Kim replied, remembering what happened with Felix Renton on his last assignment for the government, which also turned out to be Ron's last assignment.

"Ouch." Pam stated.

"Felix has learned to overcome that little shortfall, though." Kim replied, smiling.

"_Attention all passengers, we will now begin boarding of Air France Flight 401 to Paris, please have your tickets ready at the tarmac prior to boarding, once again, we would now like to begin boarding of Air France Flight 401 to Paris, thank you, and have a safe flight._" came the voice of the flight attendant over the intercom.

"Paris, here we come." Pam stated on a laugh.

"I just hope they're ready for us." Kim added, smiling.

* * *

_Later that evening:_

"Pam, can you turn the radio down, I'm trying to call Ron." Kim yelled, but she would've done better to scream into a Gale, the music was so loud, that she couldn't be heard over it.

Kim walked into a bathroom on the other side of the living room, and dialed Ron's cell phone number quickly, and began smiling as she did so, in five months, she would marry the man she loved, and wanted to have a family with.

* * *

_In Los Angeles:_

Ron was sitting in his study, reading a book, when his cell phone rang, he quickly looked at the Caller ID, and recognized the number as Kim's.

"Hey, babe." Ron said, as he placed the phone to his ear.

"_Hey, hon . . . sorry I didn't call when we landed, but we were a little rushed, we barely got the last taxi at the airport, it was completely crazy there, you know how it goes._" Kim replied.

"Yeah, I do, Charles DeGaulle Airport has never been one of my favorite places." Ron stated.

"_I can understand why._" Kim replied.

"I've been telling you that for six years." Ron stated, a chuckle in his voice.

"_I think I finally picked up on it_." Kim answered, when the sound of breaking glass caught both her, and Ron's attention.

"What the hell was that?" Ron asked.

"Sounded like something broke." Kim replied.

"Sounded like breaking glass . . . anything glass near you that would be considered delicate?" Ron asked.

"Just the window . . . wait a minute, I see movement, in the hallway, making their way to the living room . . . Ron, these guys are masked." Kim stated.

"Oh shit, Kim, did you run into anyone at the airport, talk to anyone?" Ron asked, as he quickly ran to a bookshelf, and grabbed a Haliburton style briefcase, and opened it to reveal state-of-the-art recording equipment, which he hooked up to his cell phone, he then hit record in the small voice recorder the equipment was hooked to.

"Just a guy that wanted to share a taxi, why?" Kim asked.

"Shit, shit, _**SHIT!**_ Kim, you got marked." Ron replied.

"_**MARKED?! FOR WHAT?!**_" Kim asked.

"Don't know, but, do me a favor, and find a shady spot where you can't be seen." Ron stated.

"I'm in a bathroom on the other side of the apartment, I can see the living room . . . oh, Jesus, Ron, they just got Pam . . . they hit her with some kind of tranquilizer dart." Kim stated.

"Damn . . . you're not gonna win against that . . . Kim, get into the next bedroom, and tell me when you're there." Ron stated.

"Alright." Kim replied, and walked form the bathroom, and into an adjoining bedroom.

"Okay, I'm in the next bedroom." Kim replied.

"Listen to me carefully, get under the bed, and stay there, this next part is very important . . . they're gonna take you." Ron emotionlessly stated.

"What do you mean '_take me_'?" Kim asked.

"Just like they did Pam." Ron replied.

"So what do I do, hide under the bed like I'm eight? Ron, I can take care of myself?" Kim replied.

"How many are there?" Ron asked.

"At least eight, or nine." Kim replied.

"Are they all armed?" Ron asked.

"Yes, looks like tranquilizer guns, and .40 caliber pistols." Kim replied.

"Then do what I told you, and listen carefully to what I have to say." Ron replied.

"Okay." Kim stated, Ron heard her shuffling her way under the bed.

"Okay, now, you're gonna have ten, maybe fifteen seconds from the time they grab you, until they decide that you're struggling too much, and tranquilize you, now, during that time, I want you to tell me everything you can about them, height, hair color, scars, tattoos, anything that might be usefull, do you understand?" Ron asked.

"Yeah." Kim replied, as the sound of footsteps began filling her ears.

"They're coming, I can hear them right outside the door." Ron replied, as he heard someone talking in a foregin language, one that he had no idea of.

Hold the phone out so I can hear what they're saying." Ron stated, in a calm manner.

Kim slowly held the phone out, and Ron heard snatches of conversation, then, he heard Kim's voice once again.

"Eastern European, if I had to guess, I'd say Russian, or one of the Balkan countries." Ron stated.

"They're leaving," Kim stated, until she felt her feet being pulled on, "_**RON!!**_"

"Come on, KP, come on." Ron said to himself.

"Six feet black hair, beard, tattoo on right hand, moon and star." Kim rattled out, before the sound of breaking glass was heard, along with a rush of air, then, all was silence, until Ron heard some breathing on the other end of the phone. Ron quickly picked up the phone, andleft it hooked to the recording device he had placed on it earlier.

"I don't know who you are, nor do I care," Ron stated clearly, "if it's ransom you want, I can tell you I don't have any money, but what I do have are a particular set of skills . . . skills I have acquired over a very distinguished career . . . skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. Now, if you release my fiancee, and her friend, that'll be the end of it, I won't follow you, I won't pursue you . . . if you don't . . . I'll follow you . . . I will find you . . . and I will kill you."

The breathing stopped, and suddenly, a man's voice came over the phone, speaking with a thick Eastern European accent. The man only said two words.

"_Good luck_."

* * *

_And that's Chapter 2. Sorry if it's a little close to the movie there, but, I did change a few things around, i.e. the tranquilizer guns . . . when you go after someone like Kim Possible, you had better have some kind of plan to knock her out, or she's gonna knock you out, if you get my meaning._

_Anyhow, that's another chapter in the books (no pun intended). And on with the story, time for Ron to go all Rambo on someone's backside :-) ._

_As always, keep the reviews coming,_

_**Doug**_


	4. Chapter 3: On the Trail

**Chapter 3**

**On the Trail**

"_From this day, until the end of history, we in it shall be remembered, we lucky few, we band of brothers, for he who sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother." __**Henry V**_

"_I treasure the words my grandson said to me when he asked this question . . . 'Grandpa, were you a hero during the war?' Grandpa said 'No . . . but I served in a company of heroes.' " __**Major Richard D. Winters DSC, 506**__**th**__** Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101**__**st**__** Airborne Division, "Easy" Company . . . Band of Brothers.**_

As Ron raced toward Kim's apartment, he pulled out his cell phone, and got in touch with a very old friend.

"Wade, I need you to analyze something for me, I'm downloading a copy to you now."

"On it, Ron. I'll have the information for you in a couple of minutes." Wade replied, as Ron hung up the phone, and pulled into the small parking lot.

Ron rushed into the building like a wild man on a mission, and the first person he saw, was the landlord.

"You got the keys to Kim's apartment?" Ron asked.

"What if I do?" the man replied.

"Unlock the door, now." Ron said, his voice dangerously calm.

"Fuck you, man." the landlord replied.

"Boy, you just said the wrong words." Ron replied.

Ron struck with the speed of a Cheetah, grabbing the landlord by the throat, and forcing him against the wall, which rattled, as the ceiling rumbled, creating a dust cloud as Ron slammed the man against the wall hard enough that the sound echoed throughout the narrow hallway between the two apartments.

"Now, I am not in the mood to be screwed with. Either you unlock Kim's apartment, or you'll be eating Tomato Soup through a straw until fucking _**DOOMSDAY!! GOT IT?!**_" Ron bellowed.

The landlord nodded, and timidly pulled out a key ring with two keys on it. He stuck one of the keys into the lock of Kim's apartment door, and turned the knob, the door came open with a loud creaking of rusty hinges, as Ron tossed the landlord aside.

"Now, if you value your life, you'll crawl back under whatever rock you slithered from under, and not show your face in front of me again, until I choose to pull you out by your ankles." Ron replied, staring at the man with eyes ablaze.

Kim's roommates, Tara King, and Mike Horner walked in just in time to see Ron enter the apartment, and begin looking around.

"What's going on, Ron?" Tara asked.

"Yeah, dude, you look like Mt. St. Helens, ready to blow it's top, what's the deal?" Mike asked.

"It's Kim . . . she's been taken." Ron replied.

"Taken, what do you mean '_taken_'." Tara asked.

"Just as it sounds, Tara . . . which room is Kim's?" Ron asked.

"Up the stairs, first door on the right." Tara replied, following Ron up the stairs, as Ron yanked open the door.

The scene that greeted him was very familiar, with a few exceptions, the walls in the room weren't painted pink. Instead, they were a vivid white that almost hurt Ron's eyes, however, her familiar picture frame decorated the night stand, in it, was a picture of Kim and Ron shortly after graduation, Ron was still wearing the spacesuit, while Kim was wearing her tattered gown, and no cap, with her National Honor Society sash tied around her waist.

"Mike . . . you have connections with United Airlines through your leasing company in Florida, right?" Ron asked.

"Yeah." Mike replied.

"Get me a plane ticket to Paris." Ron said sharply.

"For when?" Mike asked.

"An hour ago." Ron answered, rather sternly.

"Right." Mike stated, now excusing himself from the room, as Tara took a seat on the bed.

"What now, Ron?" Tara asked.

"I'm gonna find her, and God help the sons-of-bitches that took her." Ron replied, his face stony.

"Oh, my God . . . you're gonna kill them, aren't you, even if you get Kim back . . . you're not gonna let these guys live." Tara replied, sudden dawning comprehension filling her face.

"They kidnaped Kim, that is inexcusable, and unforgivable in my book, Tara, they don't deserve to walk the streets, let alone continue what they're doing." Ron replied.

"Just get her back, Ron." Tara replied.

"You know I will." Ron stated sternly, as his cell phone began to ring out his favorite tune, '_**Low Rider**_.'

"What have you got for me Wade?" Ron asked, as he switched the speaker on, so that Tara could hear.

"Well, form what I could pick up on the accents, and dialect, these guys are Albanian, probably from a town called Trapolje. That's ground zero for scumbags like this." Wade replied.

"Go on." Ron urged.

"Anyway, the man you talked to, Marko, turns out that a Marko Traliev arrived in Paris about six years ago, if it's the same guy, he's a big fish." Wade stated.

"Go on." Ron urged.

"Am I on speaker, Ron, are you the only person in the room?" Wade asked.

"Tara's here." Ron replied.

"Hey, Tara." Wade said, as cheerily as he could.

"Hey, Wade." Tara replied, in a somewhat demure voice.

"She needs to know, Wade, just in case." Ron replied.

"Alright, anyway, the tattoo, it's a group mark, it's how they identify each other." Wade stated.

"What else?" Ron asked.

"This group's previous M.O. was to lure girls form developing countries, Romania, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, to the west with jobs as maids, nannies, that kind of thing . . . they'd then addict them to drugs, and force them into prostitution." Wade replied.

"Keep going." Ron urged.

"Anyway, they started just grabbing foreign tourists, cut out the cost of transportation." Wade stated, then, he continued, "From the intelligence I got, you got a 96 hour window."

"Until when?" Ron asked.

"Until you completely lose track of her, and never find her again." Wade replied, with a somber voice.

"I'm not gonna let that happen." Ron replied, as Mike walked back into the room.

"Good luck, Ron . . . I'll keep in touch." Wade replied, as Ron hung up the phone.

"There's a private plane on the way from Sacramento, should be here in about five minutes, your flight plan has been filed at LAX, and you're ready to go." Mike stated.

"Alright, Tara, listen very carefully, I'm gonna give you a cell phone number, if I don't come home in a week, call that number, they'll know where to find me." Ron replied.

"Right." Tara replied.

"Okay, I gotta go . . . see you in about a week." Ron replied.

* * *

_On the plane, en route_ _to Paris:_

Ron continued to play the recording over and over while waiting to land, should he could get every quirk of the voice down in his mind, he continued to play the last message over, and over, until the pilot finally told him that they had arrived at Charles DeGaulle Airport, he then got off, and left for the apartment building.

* * *

_Ten minutes later, near the heart of downtown Paris:_

Ron walked up to the apartment building with a grocery bag in hand, as a cover, when a young woman opened the door, Ron quickly walked through.

"_Merci_." Ron said, as the woman walked away, he then walked to the nearest open hall window, and walked the ledge to the first window of the apartment, where he began his own investigation, he saw the living room was a total disaster, indicating that Pam had put up a struggle before finally being tranquilized, he continued through the rooms, until he came to the bathroom, and noticed that through the bathroom window, he had a perfect view of the living room.

"Okay, Kim was here when Pam was grabbed, what bedroom did she go to?" Ron asked himself, as he left the bathroom through a side door, and found himself into a smaller bedroom, he looked around, and quickly noticed a broken mirror, as he continued to look around, he noticed Kim's cell phone, on the floor, in pieces.

"Jackpot, found the room." Ron said to himself, as he bent down to look at the smashed remains of Kim's phone, unfortunately, the G.P.S. tracker that Ron had placed on her had been hidden inside of the phone itself, therefore making it useless to track her using satellites.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to do it old school." Ron said to himself as he bent down to take a closer look, that's when he noticed it, still in Kim's camera, a memory stick. If there was one thing Ron knew about Kim, she loved to take pictures to document where she had been, so, he was sure that there would be pictures on it.

Ron took the memory stick, placed into the pocket of his ever present black leather trenchcoat, and started for the door, when he noticed a single red hair stuck to the mirror, he pulled it out, and the scene of Kim having her head smashed into the mirror played out in his mind, making his blood boil with every second.

'_You spineless fucks are so dead when I catch up to you, they won't even find enough to identify through DNA._' Ron thought savagely as he left the apartment, and out, into the Paris night.

* * *

_Later that same evening:_

Ron had found an all night one hour kiosk in which to develop the photos on Kim's memory stick, he quickly loaded it into the computer setup, and began to cycle through the pictures, until he stopped on one that showed Kim and Pam, hamming it up for the camera, near the main entrance to Charles DeGaulle Airport, he looked further, and noticed the reflection of a man, holding a cell phone in the glass surface of a bus stop. Ron printed the photo once, with Kim and Pam in the center of the photo, he then focused on the bus stop, and zoomed in on the reflection of the man, sharpening the picture to crystal clarity, and printing it out a second time, so that he could find the man that had marked them.

"We're gonna start with you, whoever you are." Ron said aloud, as he smiled, he had his first lead in the case.

* * *

_The next morning, at the atrium at Charles DeGaulle Airport:_

A young man with short brown hair lounged near a patio table with a beer in front of him, looking at the women that were walking through the airport, when a very beautiful woman with long blonde hair caught his eye, he quickly looked toward a large bald black man standing on the other side of the atrium, who nodded. The young man got out of his chair, and followed the young girl, but neither one of them noticed the well built blonde haired man following them out and into the bright sunshine.

"Tourist?" the young man asked, now looking at the beautiful blonde standing next to him.

"Yes." the young woman said, speaking with a Scandinavian accent.

"Me too," the young man said, smiling, "I'm Peter."

"Ingrid." the woman replied.

"The cabs here in this country are so damned expensive, would you like to share?" Peter asked.

"Sure." Ingrid replied, to a smile from Peter, who began to get into the waiting taxi, he was quickly pushed into the cab by Ron Stoppable, who pushed him up against the other door of the car, and began punching him fiercely against the rib cage.

"_**DRIVE!**_" Ron bellowed at the driver, who got out of the car, and ran off.

"_**THE TWO AMERICAN GIRLS FROM YESTERDAY, WHERE ARE THEY?!**_" Ron shouted at the top of his lungs.

"I don't know, I swear, I don't know." Peter sobbed, as Ron resumed his hard punching, hitting the young man three more times, breaking at least two ribs as he did so.

"The next rib drives into your lung. Now, _**THE TWO AMERICAN GIRLS, WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?!**_" Ron asked, his temper becoming shorter, and shorter by the minute, until he felt a heavy weight at his ankles.

Ron was pulled unceremoniously out of the cab, where he hit the ground with a loud thud, he turned around, to see a muscular black man, hanging onto his left leg, Ron brought up his right foot, and planted it into the man's chest, causing the man to leg go of his leg.

"You really don't want to do this." Ron stated, now looking at the man, who charged him.

"Looks like you do." Ron replied, now catching the man with another kick to the chest, knocking him backwards, this was the hesitation Ron needed to open up.

Ron grabbed the man by the arm, spun him around, and pulled hard, dislocating his shoulder, he then pulled the man toward him, and caught him across the throat with a vicious knife edge chop, following it up by driving the mans head into the trunk of the taxi behind him.

"Say goodnight, punk." Ron said, as he watched the man slide down the side of the taxi, quite dead, his windpipe crushed.

Ron then returned his attention to the taxi, and noticed that his prey had taken off down an off ramp for the nearest freeway, Ron jumped into the drivers seat of the taxi, and took off after the young man, who caused a snarl in the traffic, Ron was effectively reduced to chasing the man on foot.

"You son-of-a-bitch, when I get hold of you, there won't be enough to recognize as human." Ron said aloud, as he gained on the young man, who was holding onto his broken ribs, and wheezing due to lack of oxygen in the body.

Ron finally caught up to the young man, who was now at the highest point on the freeway, an overpass, looking down at a very busy Parisian street.

"You're not gonna . . ." Ron said, almost unbelieving, as the young man maneuvered himself on the other side of the guard rail, and prepared to jump.

"Holy shit, you are . . . you're actually gonna jump." Ron said, a look of shock crossing his face, as the young man jumped off the overpass, and onto the roof of a semi.

"Lucky asshole." Ron replied, as the man jumped off the now stopped semi, what the young man didn't see, was the five ton truck coming at him in the lane to his right. He took three steps to the side, and turned just in time to see the grille of the truck slam into him, he was dead before his body ever hit the concrete.

"Dammit . . . that was my only lead too." Ron said, slamming his fist into the concrete guard rail on the overpass, as he worked his way back down to ground level.

* * *

_The main entrance to Surite headquarters_:

Jean-Pierre La Mond liked his job, but, in all reality, he preferred his old job, as an agent for the French Government better, at least he was able to get some air every once in a while, in this job, he was chained to a desk, it was maddening.

'_What do I have to do to get back in the action?_' he thought to himself, as he passed a small bistro less than three doors down from the building he worked in, what he didn't notice was the young man, wearing a black leather trenchcoat, with a newspaper held up high, to conceal his face.

Ron brought the paper down, and began following one of his oldest friends, Jean-Pierre La Mond, a former French Preventer, and someone Ron worked with on several occasions.

"Jean-Pierre." Ron said, as he came abreast of his friend.

"Just like old times, Ronald." Jean-Pierre replied, smiling for the first time in two years.

"Would you have it any other way?" Ron asked.

"Between you, and me, no," Jean-Pierre replied, with a slightly disgusted tone to his voice, "But, I sit behind a desk now, retirement cannot be much better."

"It wasn't, until two days ago, when someone decided to kidnap Kim here in Paris." Ron replied, quickly catching hie friend's attention.

"Kim was kidnaped here?" Jean-Pierre asked.

"Yes, by a group of Albanian traffickers." Ron replied.

"Hmm . . . how do you know all this?" Jean-Pierre asked.

"I'm retired, Jean-Pierre, not dead." Ron replied, a bit of an edge to his voice.

"Okay, so, what do you want from me?" the tall French officer asked.

"I need some information on them." Ron replied.

"Maybe it would be best if we go to the airport, and find their spotter." Jean-Pierre stated.

"I already did, the man's dead, that's why I came to you." Ron replied.

"You found him that way?" Jean-Pierre asked.

"What do you think?" Ron asked.

"Dammit, Ronald, I cannot have you running around, tearing up Paris." Jean-Pierre stated.

"They got Kim, Jean-Pierre, I'll tear down the fucking Eiffel Tower if I have to, are you gonna help me find them, or not?" Ron asked.

"They came here about seven years ago, at first, there were maybe 20 of them, since then, they've grown into the hundreds, maybe even more . . . and very dangerous." Jean-Pierre stated.

"So I've heard." Ron replied, unfazed by this news.

"I'll do what I can, Ronald, but you must understand, I sit behind a desk, and I take my orders from a man that sits behind a bigger desk." Jean-Pierre stated.

"I don't care who sits behind what size desk, Jean-Pierre, I'm gonna find Kim if I have to tear apart this entire city to do it." Ron replied.

"I'll do what I can." Jean-Pierre commented, suddenly finding himself afraid of Ron's surge of temper. He was well aware of what Ron is capable of, and he had seen Ron interrogate people, it wasn't pretty to say the least, and his ability to kill someone with a simple lead pencil was enough to make even Hercules quake in his boots.

"I'll do it, and I can guarantee results." Ron said, as he began to cross the street.

"Ronald . . . try not to make a mess." Jean-Pierre stated, but he would have done better to talk to a brick wall. At least a brick wall doesn't kill a person just for being unhelpful.

* * *

_And the body count currently stands at two, get ready for more, as Ron is going to keep the Paris morgue rather busy._

_Now, I bet several of you are wondering why I started this chapter with an epigraph, instead of my usual song lyrics. Let's just say that within the next few chapters, Ron will finally get the meaning behind the first one, while the second one works pretty much for Kim's family, as they hear of what happened through Wade._

_As always, keep the reviews coming,_

_**Doug**_


	5. Chapter 4: The Hunt Begins

**Chapter 4**

**The Hunt Begins**

_**Don't Pay the Ferryman**_

_by_

_**Chris De Burgh**_

_It was late at night on the open road, speeding like a man on the run,_

_A lifetime spent preparing for the journey,_

_He is closer now, and the search is on, reading from a map in the mind,_

_Yes, there's that ragged hill and there's a boat on the river,_

_And when the rain came down,_

_He heard a wild dog howl,_

_There were voices in the night, (__**Don't do it**__)_

_Voices out of sight, (__**Don't do it**__)_

_Too many men have failed before, whatever you do,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, don't even fix a price,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, until he gets you to the other side,_

_In the rolling mist, and he gets on board, now there'll be no turning back,_

_Beware that hooded old man at the rudder,_

_And the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled, and people called out his name,_

_And dancing balls that jabbered and a-moaned on the water,_

_And then the ferryman said, 'there is trouble ahead,'_

'_So you must pay me now,' (__**Don't do it**__)_

'_You must pay me now,' (__**Don't do it**__)_

_And still that voice came from beyond, whatever you do,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, don't even fix a price,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, until he gets you to the other side,_

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, __**YEAH!**_

_Don't pay the ferryman, don't even fix a price,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, until he gets you to the other side,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, don't even fix a price,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, until he gets you to the other side,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, don't even fix a price,_

_Don't pay the ferryman, until he gets you to the other side,_

_Don't pay . . . the ferryman!_

Ron was slightly rattled at the almost arrogant nature of his old friend.

'_What's got into him?_' Ron thought, '_There was a time when I asked him to help, and he was only too eager to help, what the hell happened, did he fall in love with that damned desk? I wonder if Isabelle knows about how he treated me?_'

At the same time, another conversation was taking place between Jean-Pierre, and his assistant.

"_What do I do?_" the assistant asked, speaking in French.

"_Keep an eye on him._" Jean-Pierre replied, "_But keep your distance, if I know Ron as well as I think, he'll know if he's being followed, and if you want to see your wife, and son and still be on one piece, you'll keep your distance._"

"_He can't be that dangerous, sir_." the assistant commented.

"_Like hell he can't be, I once saw that man kill ten people with nothing but a Bowie Knife, a lead pencil, and a deck of playing cards, when he goes active, he can be very ruthless, and vicious, just follow him, but for the love of God, don't let him see you . . . if he does, he will put you in hospital . . . or worse, the morgue._" Jean-Pierre replied.

"_I've never heard of such a thing_." the assistant stated boldly.

"_Believe me, if you get too close to Ron Stoppable, there will not even be enough for your wife to identify._" Jean-Pierre stated.

"_He's just quiet right now, he looks harmless_." the assistant stated.

"_For now, I can assure you that he won't stay quiet and harmless for long_." Jean-Pierre replied, an ominous tone to his voice.

Meanwhile, Ron had gotten in touch with Wade.

"Alright, Wade, here comes the fun part, you ready for this?" Ron asked.

"I was born ready, Ron." Wade replied.

"Alright, I need you to track someone for me, I'm about to pay a visit to the Parisian Red Light District, and when I find someone, I plan to chip the asshole, once that's done, I need you to track him for me." Ron replied.

"You got it . . . oh, Ron . . . I got Kim's parents on the line . . . they want to talk to you." Wade commented calmly.

"Patch them through, Wade." Ron replied, his face set in stone.

"Ronald, please tell me you can find her." Mr. Possible stated.

"I'll find her if it kills me." Ron replied, determination dripping off every syllable.

"How long have you got?" Mrs. Possible asked.

"96 hours, that was 18 hours ago." Ron replied.

"So, you got 78 hours left, that's only about three days." Mr. Possible stated.

"Not easy, but not impossible to do." Ron replied.

"We trust you, Ron . . . just bring her home for us." Mrs. Possible stated.

"If I don't, you can prep that deep space probe, Mr. Dr. P." Ron stated, causing a weak chuckle from Mr. Possible.

"Understood, Ronald." he replied.

"Look, I gotta go, there's a lot of work to be done, and very little time to do it." Ron replied, shutting off the cell phone before the Possible parents could say goodbye.

"Alright, Ron . . . ready to go when you are." Wade replied.

"Alright, I'm here, keep the line open." Ron replied, as he stuck an earpiece deep into his ear canal, and walked up to the nearest prostitute, and began talking to her in French.

"_Hey, can you help me for a second, I'm looking for someone._"

"_Sorry, I can't help you_." the woman replied.

"_Just for a second, huh?_" Ron asked.

"_I'm busy, and that's the second one I lost because of you, go away, I'm losing business_." the prostitute replied.

"_Come on, please help me_." Ron replied, now looking around, as the girl suddenly became nervous.

"_Oh, shit, here he comes, get out of here_." the girl said, but too late, as the girl's pimp grabbed Ron by the front of his coat, and pinned him against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?" the man asked, speaking with a thick Eastern European accent.

"I was just asking . . ." Ron began, but, he was cut off by the pimp.

"You owe me fifty Euro for the business my girl lost because of you, asshole."

"Okay, okay, I don't want no trouble." Ron replied, that's when he moved in, with the speed, and skill borne from his training, Ron was able to plant a tracking chip under the shirt collar of the man, and, smiling sheepishly, he dug into his pocket, and withdrew 100 Euro, holding it up, and handing the man fifty.

"And fifty more for wasting my time." the pimp stated, now taking the other fifty Euro from Ron, with a smug grin, as Ron turned to walk away, once out of earshot, Ron turned, and looked back.

"Fucking piece of shit." Ron stated, only loud enough for him, and Wade to hear.

"Okay, Ron, the line's working." Wade stated, as Ron could hear two men talking in rapid Albanian in the background.

"What have you got, Wade?" Ron asked.

"Well, they're talking about you . . . not very pleasant stuff either." Wade replied.

"What are they saying?" Ron asked, chuckling to himself.

"Well, they're saying that you're an asshole . . . wait a minute, the conversation just changed, something about some very hostile merchandise." Wade replied.

"Probably Kim, what are they saying?" Ron asked.

"Something about a construction site just north of Paris, they're moving the stock up there, to entertain the workers." Wade replied, still listening in.

"Do me a favor, Wade, translate the words good luck into Albanian, and print it out, the usual place, I got an idea." Ron replied, smiling like a Cheshire Cat.

"No problem, Ron . . . I'm all over it." Wade replied, his words seemed to echo what Ron was catching on about.

_Later that evening, at a construction site north of Paris:_

The construction site seemed to be a long way out of the city, but it was bustling with activity, as a large trailer was placed just inside of the gate, and several men were lined in front of it, most seemed to have been working all day, but one man seemed to stick out from the crowd.

He was a well build blonde haired man, standing about six foot tall, wearing a black trenchcoat, and black denim jeans, he seemed to be out of place in the crowd of construction workers, in his hand, he was carrying fifty Euro, the standard fee for a prostitute in Paris.

Ron walked up to the front door, and handed over the money, and was given a small piece of cardboard, with the number 4 written upon it, Ron nodded, and began walking through the area, he walked into the stall marked with the number he was carrying, and a young blonde was inside, Ron looked carefully into her face, and didn't recognize her, he continued to walk down the curtained hall the small cubicles made, until he looked through a crack between the sheets of one stall, and saw a head of red hair, he quickly looked around, and saw something that made his heart skip a beat. A familiar blue denim jacket, the same jacket he had bought Kim for her 19th birthday.

Ron instantly lost all manner of thought, as his instincts, and skills kicked in, he ripped down the curtain barrier, grabbed the construction worker in the cubicle, and tossed him through a back window of the trailer, he then walked back to the stall, where he saw the woman up close, instantly, he noticed that it wasn't Kim.

The young woman was very slender, probably from lack of food, and seemed lost in her own little world, most likely from a recent injection of either heroin, or some other drug. Ron grabbed her right arm, and held it out straight, where he saw needle marks along the Brachial Artery, instantly, he recognized them as syringe marks made by heroin.

Once Ron let go of her, she looked at him through dazed eyes, and beckoned to him with her finger, Ron grabbed the jacket on the chair next to the bed, and looked at the girl.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"I am good." the girl said, her voice carrying a heavy French accent.

"Where did you get this jacket?" Ron asked again.

"I am good." the girl said again, still staring off in a daze.

'_Shit, she's so strung out, I doubt that she even hears me._' Ron thought, as he grabbed onto the girl, and slung her over a shoulder as though she were yesterday's garbage.

As he headed for the door, one of the men that had checked Ron in had walked into the trailer, and saw what was happening.

The man drew from inside of a jacket, a .40 Smith & Wesson pistol, this caused Ron to react instinctively.

Ron grabbed the man's hand, twisted hard at the wrist, and disarmed the man in one fluid motion, the breaking of bones filled the trailer, as Ron twisted the man's hand around.

The man screamed out in pain, as Ron slammed him hard to the floor, then, he turned the gun against it's former master, and pulled the trigger. Three shots rang out, the final one hitting the man between the eyes, above the bridge of the nose.

Ron ran out of the trailer, practically dragging the young girl that had Kim's jacket, he quickly ran into several men, all of them seeking to kill Ron where he stood.

The fight was on within seconds, as Ron began landing kick after kick, and punch after punch, killing several of the men with well placed kicks, or punches to the throat, he then grabbed a lead pencil close to him, as one of the bigger men came charging him.

"Dude, you are so dead." Ron stated, staring at the man, until he was not more than about five steps away, Ron struck.

Ron grabbed the man by the back of the neck, spun him around, so that he was facing the way he had come, placed his right hand over the man's nose, and mouth, and jammed the pencil into the base of the man's neck, piercing the Juggler Vein.

"What a bloody mess." Ron quipped, as the man tumbled to the ground, the blood squirting from the hole in time with the beats of the mans heart.

Ron dived into a Jeep Cherokee parked close, shoved the girl into the back seat, covered her face with Kim's jacket, hot-wired the car, and took off in a pall of dirt, and the high whine of the engine, within a matter of seconds, about nine men hopped into three other SUV's parked close by, and took up chase.

Ron wove through the area, and several large end loading tractors as he attempted to make it to the exit, with three Mercedes SUV's on his tail, he quickly made a sharp turn, and caused one of the pursuing vehicles to hit a large mound of dirt, the car flipped over, and Ron turned, and took a shot at the car, hitting the gas tank with a couple of shots, causing a spark, and igniting the fuel inside, the car exploded into a ball of fire, killing all of the occupants inside.

"One down, two to go." Ron said, as he took off, this time, heading straight for a second car, he hit it, and drove it over a high embankment, flipping it over, as he ran over the top of the car, and landed hard on the front wheels, that left a third pursuing vehicle, which Ron was becoming tired of.

"Alright, boy . . . you wanna play rough, you got it." Ron stated, as the man fired three shots through the driver's side window, all three narrowly missing Ron, as he pushed the man toward a large mudhole.

Ron hit the hole, avoiding getting mud on the drivers side of the windshield, while the pursuing driver hit the mudhole full on, covering the windshield in mud, and muck.

The driver of the pursuing car turned on the wipers, and what he saw made him cover his face, he had swerved into the path of a front end loader tractor, the car collided with the bucket of the tractor, shearing half of the car's roof cleanly, and decapitating everyone inside.

Ron then turned the car for the exit, which he now noticed had been closed.

"No time to go through the gate, guess I'll have to make my own exit." Ron said, as he dropped his right foot onto the accelerator pedal, the engine let out a loud rumble, as Ron pushed on the horn, the car went through the guard trailer, and out into the night.

_At the home of Jean-Pierre La Mond:_

The Director in Charge of Security for the Surtie was attempting to relax, when his private telephone rang. He picked it up, and on the other end, was his assistant.

"_You're not gonna believe what he just did_." the man said.

"_With Ronald, I'll believe anything_." Jean-Pierre replied.

"_He just wrecked a construction site, twelve men dead, about another fifteen in hospital, he drove a pencil into one man's neck_." the assistant relayed.

"_Sounds like his style, subtlety was never one of his strong points_." Jean-Pierre replied.

"_What now?_" the assistant asked.

"_Now that he's active, my bet is he's gonna lose you_." Jean-Pierre stated.

Ron was now back in town, when he noticed a small car that seemed to have taken a particular interest in him, he stopped at a red light, and didn't bother to wait for the light to turn green, taking off, and doubling back down the road. As Ron reached a level with the mysterious car, he turned, smiled, and stuck out his middle finger at the driver.

"_Shit_." the man cursed, slamming his fist on the steering wheel, he was stuck, and unable to follow his prey. His boss warned him that Ron Stoppable would lose him, now that he has gone active, and that's exactly what happened.

_At a hotel near the edge of Paris:_

Ron walked in, and looked at the man behind the desk.

"Hey, Gilles." Ron said, smiling at the man behind the desk.

"Monsieur Stoppable, it has been a long time, no?" the man asked.

"Yeah, Gilles, too long . . . how's the wife?" Ron asked.

"Oh, you know her, that's why I'm down here, I am beginning to believe that I cannot afford her." Gilles stated.

"I need a room." Ron replied.

"The usual accommodations?" Gilles asked.

"Plus one." Ron replied.

"I will have everything ready . . . room three, first floor." Gilles replied, smiling at his old friend.

"Thanks, at least I still have one friend in Paris that's willing to help me." Ron replied, ducking back into the night, to retrieve his guest, and his luggage.

Ron knew he needed the girl to talk to him, and relay what she knew, so, he needed her to regain her strength, and the only way he could do that, is with certain medications, medications he knew Gilles had access to, and could acquire for him, that is the only reason he came to this part of town, to this hotel. Ron would nurse the girl back to health, get the information he needed, and allow the girl to return to her life before she was forced into a very dangerous lifestyle, a lifestyle he couldn't allow Kim to get into. Not for nothing, was Ron not only the infiltrator in his group, he was also a skilled medic. He would do what he needed, and let the girl be on her way.

'_Something tells me that this is going to be the longest night in history._' he thought to himself, as he opened the door to the room, and sat down at the small table to begin the work of bringing the girl around.

_Chapter 4 is now finished, from here, it's only going to get interesting, so, get ready. I have a feeling that this might be a little shorter than the usual fifteen chapter stories you have come to expect that it should still be a decent read._

_As always, keep the reviews coming,_

_**Doug**_


	6. Chapter 5: The Nightmare Begins

**Chapter 5**

**The Nightmare Begins**

_**The Night Will Only Know**_

_by_

_**Garth Brooks**_

_That night will live forever, their first time to lie together,_

_They were finally where desire dared them to go,_

_Both belonging to another, but longing to be lovers,_

_Promising each other that the night will only know,_

_Parked on some old back street, they laid down in the back seat,_

_And fell into the fire down below,_

_They would pay for their deceiving, for a deadly web was weaving,_

_Why they picked that spot that evening, Lord, the night will only know,_

_Well within the innuendos, just outside the steamy windows,_

_The night was shattered by a woman's scream,_

_Motionless, and frightened, the grip of fate had tightened,_

_And with trembling hands, they wiped away the steam,_

_And they saw a woman pleading, stumbling and retreating,_

'_Till she became the victim of her foe,_

_And they watched her fall in silence, to save their own alliance,_

_But the reason for the violence, just the night will only know,_

_And every paper ran the story, she was stripped of all her glory,_

_And they told exactly how the woman died,_

_Abandoned and forsaken, too many pills were taken,_

_And they ruled the woman's death a suicide,_

_Bound by their behavior, they could've been her savior,_

_Now guilt becomes the endless debt they owe,_

_But another crime was committed, and it's never been admitted,_

_Have the guilty been acquitted just the night . . ._

_Will only know._

* * *

By early morning, Ron had several things he needed, including the printed copy of the words '_good luck_' written in Albanian.

"You're a lifesaver, Wade." Ron stated, as he walked to the front desk, and picked up the plain manila envelope, and walked back to the room. He then went about the task of helping the girl he saved to regain herself.

Ron had gotten several vials from Gilles that he needed to work on the girl, mostly medications, along with at least two IV bags full of saline solution, and Glucose, which the girl needed to replenish the fluids lost to the ravages of heroin.

Ron then began mixing several vials, and added a syringe of what he mixed into a vial of Morphine, he then injected it into the IV he had established on the girl earlier.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, the girl began to come around . . . dazed at first, but everything began to slowly come into focus.

"What?" The girl asked, grabbing for the IV.

"No . . . just leave that be . . . it's fluids, and medicine to counteract the drugs, just relax." Ron stated.

"Where am I?" the girl asked feebly.

"You're safe." Ron replied, keeping everything as vague as he could.

"Who are you?" the girl asked.

"A friend." Ron replied.

"Thank you." the girl replied, smiling weakly.

"There's some questions I need to ask you." Ron said, getting to business. The girl nodded.

"Do you remember who gave you this jacket?" Ron asked.

"Young American girl." the girl stated.

"Go on." Ron stated.

"Friendly, very kind." the girl stated.

"I know . . . she's my fiancee." Ron replied, causing the girl to gasp slightly.

"I am sorry." the girl replied.

"Where were you when she gave you this?" Ron asked.

"_Paradise_." the girl replied, her voice sounding haggard, and tired.

"What?" Ron asked.

"_Paradise_," the girl replied again, "third house from the corner, red double doors."

"And the girl that gave you this jacket is there?" Ron asked.

"Yes." the girl replied.

Ron nodded, as the girl drifted off to sleep, once he was sure she was asleep, he got up, and left the room.

* * *

_Rue de Paradis, half an hour later_:

The sun was fully risen now, a whole 24 hours were now gone, and still, Ron was no closer to finding Kim, and her elusive Albanian captors, but he had one clue to go on, although a longshot, it was still a clue, and now, he was looking at it, the third set of doors from the corner of this small, narrow cobbled street called the Rue de Paradis, he was facing a set of double doors, painted a vivid red color. With a sense of purpose, Ron crossed the street, and opened the doors.

The doors let into an open courtyard, where two men were playing cards, they quickly stopped when Ron walked in.

"Who the hell are you?" one man asked, in a thick Eastern European accent that Ron recognized as Albanian.

"Check it out." Ron replied, pulling the business card that Jean-Pierre had given him out.

"Jean-Pierre LaMond." Ron stated.

"We paid Chevalier two weeks ago." the man stated, handing Ron back the card with his right hand, that's when Ron noticed it. A tattoo on his hand, between the thumb, and index finger, on the back of the hand, a crescent moon, and star motif.

"Chevalier transferred two days ago, I'm the one you need to deal with now." Ron replied.

"What does this mean to me?" the man asked.

"I'd like to speak to your boss, a man named Marko." Ron stated, boldly.

"Fuck you." the man replied, making a move toward Ron, who pulled out his cell phone, and held it in front of the man.

"I push a button, and 30 agents will be here before you have time to scratch your worthless balls, now I'm not here to waste my time with you," Ron said, his boldness coming to the surface, "you either take me to your boss, or I shut your ass down for racketeering, and prostitution. What's it gonna be, bright eyes?"

"Wait here." the man said, backing down quickly. He had no idea who this Jean-Pierre LaMond was, but he felt better than to test his patience this early in the morning, so, he chose to go along with the French agent in front of him.

Ron waited until the man reappeared at the first landing, which was only six short steps from the courtyard floor.

"You have weapon?" the man asked.

"You're holding it." Ron replied.

"Follow me, then." the man replied, leading Ron up the stairs, and into the upper story of the small flat.

Ron looked quickly around, and began to take in everything he saw at a glance, he saw at least five men sitting in what could only be described as a den of some kind. All of them were talking among themselves, and playing cards, they passed a second room, where Ron saw at least five more men, watching a small black and white television, from the looks of it, they were watching a soccer game, Ron also noticed a spiral staircase, where he saw two other men, both armed with MP5 machine guns, walking up the narrow staircase, to an upper floor, he then was led into a kitchen, where eight men sat, all of them were playing cards, and drinking what could only be described as coffee.

"Good morning, gentlemen, do you mind if I have a cup of coffee?" Ron asked, grabbing a tin cup from the sink basin, wiping it clean with a paper towel, and pouring some of the strong black liquid into it.

"What do you want here, cop?" one of the men asked, his voice seemed very familiar to Ron, very familiar.

"I am here to offer you a business proposition. Which one of you is Marko?" Ron asked.

"We are all Marko." another man said. This angered Ron even further.

Ron quickly looked around, and saw one of the men getting too close to him, he quickly leaned against the table in front of him, and kicked the man in the stomach, hard, the man hit the floor with a loud thud.

"I don't like people sneaking up behind me . . . get where I can see you." Ron said, seething.

The man staggered around to the other side of the table, along with two others, Ron eyeing them very suspiciously.

"Now, I don't have the time, or patience to play games with you people. I'll tell you like I told your peon downstairs, you keep this shit up, and I'll close your worthless asses down for prostitution, and racketeering . . . unless we can make a business arrangement. Now, I'm only going to ask one more time . . . which one of you is Marko?" Ron said.

"I am." Marko stated, and stood up, he was standing directly to Ron's left, and had been the first one to talk.

"Alright, Marko, here's the deal, as far as I'm concerned, you, and your people have just insulted me, so, the price has gone up ten percent." Ron stated.

"So, how much are you asking?" Marko asked.

"Twenty percent, and I guarantee it will not go up for another year." Ron stated.

"_Hand me the tin_." Marko stated, speaking in his native Albanian.

One of the men handed Marko a decorative tin, with approximately 100,000 Euro inside, Marko reached inside, and handed Ron 20,000 of it.

"I'm glad to see that someone here has an eye for business." Ron stated, placing the money into an inside pocket of his trenchcoat.

"Yes, yes. You have what you wanted, leave us." Marko replied.

"Yeah . . . oh, before I leave, a friend of mine left this for me, it's in Albanian, I can't read it, would you mind translating it for me?" Ron asked, placing the paper that Wade had sent him in front of Marko, who took the paper.

Marko looked at it carefully and began chuckling, as he showed it around.

"What does it say?" Ron asked.

"Good luck." Marko replied.

The familiar tones of the voice set the alarm bells off in Ron's head, he now knew he had his man.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Ron asked, as Marko turned his head to Ron.

"We spoke on the phone, two days ago? I told you I'd find you." Ron stated, his voice holding a dangerously calm edge to it.

Marko jumped up from his seat, and overturned the table, this was all the cue Ron needed. Grabbing a butcher knife from the sink basin close to him, he got to work.

One of the men charged Ron, who kicked him in the face, causing the man's head to snap back, then, Ron buried the butcher knife into his breastbone, in the area of the man's heart, he fell backwards, dead.

Ron quickly moved from one man to another, killing all in his way, until he was finally able to procure a gun, he quickly slammed the butt of the handgun into Marko's face, knocking the man out where he stood, shot two more guards, and pulled one of the bodies over top of him, as three more men crashed through the kitchen door, as they looked around, Ron exposed himself, and pulled the trigger on the .40 caliber handgun in his hand, killing all three men with one shot each.

Ron then stood up, and hid himself behind the counter, waiting for the others to appear, he picked each man off, one at a time, until all were dead . . . all except one, he then began walking through the flat, breaking down doors as he went, until he stopped at the final room.

There, on the bed, staring into nowhere, was Pamela Sparks, dead from a heroin overdose.

"Pam?" Ron said, as he drew close to the bed, he quickly checked for a pulse, and found none, suddenly, Ron's blood began to boil from barely controlled rage. He stormed out of the room, and back toward the kitchen, determined to get the answers he was looking for.

* * *

_In the same flat, ten minutes later:_

Marko began to slowly regain his bearings.

'_When I get hold of that damned American pig, he's as good as dead_.' he thought, until something heavy hit him in the jaw.

"_**WAKE UP!!**_" the voice of Ron Stoppable filled his ears, "I need you to be focused."

Ron had in each hand, a pair of nails the size of knitting needles, as he held them in front of Marko's face. In one sudden movement, he plunged them into Marko's legs, just above the knees.

Marko let out a howl of pain as the nails tore into flesh, and lodged into bone, he could feel the nails, twitching in his legs, but he was unable to remove them, finding himself handcuffed to the armchair he was in.

"Are you focused yet?" Ron asked, as he clamped a set of jumper cables to the nails.

Marko could only nod.

"Now, we're gonna play a game of twenty questions," Ron began, "depending on how you answer, you may leave here just shitting sparks for a couple of weeks, but, it all depends on you."

"Drop dead, American pig." Marko spat weakly.

"I'll let that one slide, as I haven't begun the questions, but rest assured, from here on out, I will not tolerate defiance." Ron replied, as he pulled a picture out of his pants pocket, and showed it to Marko.

"Where is this girl?" Ron asked.

Marko spat out at Ron, most of the fluid hitting Ron in the face. Ron remained dangerously calm, pulling out a handkerchief, and wiping his face. He looked carefully at the defiant face of his target, and stuffed the handkerchief into Marko's mouth, and walked to a light switch, Marko looked closely, and saw that the jumper cables that were attached to the nails in his legs were attached to the power lines leading to the switch, but that was all of what he could make out at that moment, as Ron turned the switch on, releasing 110 volts of power into his body.

Marko shuddered, and his muscles began to tense up, as he pushed off the floor, and the chair he was sitting in rose up form the floor, mercifully, Ron shut off the switch, and removed his necktie.

"You know, we used to outsource this kind of thing," Ron stated, turning to look at Marko, "but we found out that the countries we outsourced to had very unreliable power grids, you'd flip a switch, and the power wouldn't come on for hours, then, tempers would get short, people would start resorting to very primitive measures . . . ripping out fingernails, acid drips on bare skin. The whole exercise would end up being counterproductive."

"So what?" Marko stated, his voice scratchy, and weak.

"So, here, we don't have that problem," Ron stated, "here, they have a very strong power grid, the power is stable, and reliable. Here, you flip a switch, the power stays on for days."

"Goody." Marko stated, still defiant.

"Now, I'm going to ask you again, where is this girl?" Ron asked.

Once again, Marko spat in Ron's face, only angering the well built blonde even further. Ron covered the area between the chair and the door in two strides, and flipped the light switch on before he even turned around.

Once again, Marko felt the electricity surge through his body, his muscles tightened up. He was unable to control himself, as he began to involuntarily relieve his bladder, flinging spit from his gagged mouth, as his legs stiffened up, and pulled the chair he was bound to off the floor once again.

"_**ENOUGH OF THE BULLSHIT, MARKO FROM TRAPOLJE!!**_" Ron bellowed, "Now, you either tell me what I want to know, or the next time, I'll leave that switch on until they shut off the power for lack of payment on the bill!"

Marko was too tired to resist, he had never run into someone as ruthless, vicious, or as insane as this man, he began to wonder if the red haired little bitch he had kidnaped two days ago was worth all this trouble.

"She was virgin," Marko began, finally feeling it was better to talk, "we do not keep virgins, worth lots of money."

"You sold my fiancee? You sold her?" Ron asked.

"Yes." Marko replied.

"Where, to who?" Ron asked.

"I do not know." Marko.

"You're lying." Ron stated, his anger coming to the surface.

"I do not know." Marko replied, hoping that the young man in front of him would keep his temper, and not turn the power back on.

"Alright, you want to play that way . . . _**FINE!!**_" Ron replied, and began stuffing the handkerchief back into Marko's mouth, the Albanian trafficker began talking, but Ron couldn't make out what he was saying, so, he pulled out the gag.

"McCloud . . . McCloud." Marko said, his voice sounding even more tired than before.

"McCloud, is that a place, a person?" Ron asked.

"Person . . . Patrick McCloud . . . Patrick McCloud." Marko replied.

"Where can I find this Patrick McCloud?" Ron asked.

"I don't know." Marko said, this time, telling the truth outright.

"Okay . . . thank you for your time." Ron stated, walking for the door.

"I don't know . . . I don't know . . . _**I DON'T KNOW . . . PLEASE . . . I DON'T KNOW!!**_" Marko screamed, hoping against all hope that this crazed American wouldn't turn the electricity back on.

"I believe you," Ron stated, as he flung his trenchcoat over his shoulder, "but that's not gonna save you."

As Ron left the room, he flipped the light switch on, the screams of Marko's last moments on Earth reverberated throughout the building, as he was electrocuted in the seat where he was shackled, ending the life of the last of the Albanian traffickers in Paris. Ron Stoppable had taken the entire gang out by himself, one man, with no help from any outside forces, no help from the French Government, and no help from his own government.

Ron Stoppable was on his own, and left to his devices, something he was very used to, because in the line of work he once did, you could only trust a small handful of people, and one of them had just committed the ultimate sin, he had turned his back on a friend, Ron would seek out his old friend Jean-Pierre LaMond next, to get information on the elusive Patrick McCloud, and he hoped that Jean-Pierre was in a telling mood, because if he wasn't . . . there would be hell to pay.

* * *

_The body count is now at 29, damn, Ron, do you plan to kill the entire city of Paris? Next up, a 'talk' with an old friend, and the first meeting of Ron, and the elusive Patrick McCloud . . . can anyone guess what Ron plans to do with this guy when he finds him?_

_As always, keep the reviews coming,_

_**Doug**_


	7. Chapter 6: What Friends Are These?

**Chapter 6**

**What Friends Are These?**

_**Life In the Fast Lane**_

_by_

_**The Eagles**_

_He was a hot headed man, he was brutally handsome, and she was terminally pretty,_

_She held him up, and she held him for ransom in the heart of the cold, cold city,_

_He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude, they said he was ruthless, they said he was crude,_

_They had one thing in common, they were good in bed,_

_She said 'faster, faster, the lights are turnin' red,'_

_Life in the fast lane, sure to make you lose your mind,_

_Life in the fast lane,_

_**Are you with me so far?**_

_Eager for action, hot for the game,_

_The coming attraction, the drop of a name,_

_They knew all the right people, they took all the right pills,_

_They threw outrageous parties, they paid heavenly bills,_

_There were lines on the mirror,_

_Lines on her face,_

_She pretended not to notice, she was caught up in a daze,_

_Out in the evening, until it was night, _

_She was too tired to make it, he was too tired to fight about it,_

_Life in the fast lane, surely make you lose your mind,_

_Life in the fast lane, uh-huh,_

_Life in the fast lane, every day, all the time,_

_Life in the fast lane,_

_Turnin' and burnin', blinded by thirst,_

_They didn't see the stop sign, took a turn for the worse,_

_She said 'listen, baby, you can hear the engines ring,_

'_We've been up and down this highway, haven't seen a Goddamned thing_,'

_He said 'Call a doctor, I think I'm gonna crash,'_

_Doctor said he's comin', but you gotta pay him cash,_

_They went rushin' down that freeway, mess around and got lost,_

_Baby, you know they were just dying to get off, and it was,_

_Life in the fast lane, surely make you lose your mind,_

_Life in the fast lane,_

_Life in the fast lane, everything, all the time,_

_Life in the fast lane,_

_Life in the fast lane,_

_Life in the fast lane._

* * *

For Kim, time seemed to creep by. She tried desperately to run, to escape, but for some unexplained reason, her body betrayed her, she couldn't master herself to take to her feet on her own, and start running, and keep running until she saw daylight.

'_C'mon, Kim, you can do this, just get to your feet, and run._' her mind screamed at her, but her body refused to move.

All she could hear were the fast talking of several men around her, most of it sounding like gibberish, she couldn't make out a single word, even though it was in English.

"Get ready to move them, we got an auction in about an hour, and a ton of very wealthy clients that are ready to see our wares." one man said. Kim couldn't make out faces, because she had a black veil over her face, obscuring her vision, she could, however, smell the familiar smells of being near water, she could hear waves breaking over what sounded like rocks, so, she knew she was near either a river, or a lake, if not on it, in a boat, because she could feel slight rocking, all she could hope for was that Ron was somewhere close by, and waiting to strike, to show himself, and take her back home.

* * *

_Meanwhile, halfway across town:_

Jean-Pierre LaMond walked up to the main entrance of the apartment complex he lived in, with the reports of Ron still fresh in his mind,

'_That crazy American bastard, he's going to blow it for me, all of the work I put into keeping my family, and he's going to blow it all._' he thought, as he unlocked the main door, and walked through the narrow hallway, to the front door of his flat.

When he opened the door, his wife, Isabelle was there to greet him.

"Jean-Pierre, welcome home . . . we have a visitor." Isabelle LaMond said, taking the grocery bags from her husband, and his overcoat, and leading him into the living room, where Jean-Pierre nearly swallowed his tongue. There, sitting on the sofa in his apartment, was the cause of his current case of indigestion, Ron Stoppable.

"Jean-Pierre . . . is that any way to greet an old friend?" Ron asked, standing up, and smiling cordially.

"Hello, Ronald." Jean-Pierre replied, nodding.

"Ronald said he's going to try to find a place here in Paris. Isn't that wonderful, darling?" Isabelle stated, blissfully unaware that Ron was on a hunt, and that her husband was his next target.

"Yes," Jean-Pierre said, his voice sounding somewhat hollow, "just like old times."

"One can only hope, huh?" Ron replied, smiling in a way that told Jean-Pierre, in no uncertain terms, that he knew everything.

* * *

_A few minutes later, at the dinner table of the LaMond family:_

Ron, and his two friends were sitting down at the table, preparing for dinner, when Ron spoke first.

"Jean-Pierre . . . do you know anyone named Chevalier?" he asked.

"Not right off the top of my head." Jean-Pierre lied.

"Of course you do, dear." Isabelle replied.

"Who is he?" Ron asked,

"Rene Chevalier, he is Jean-Pierre's assistant." Isabelle replied.

"I thought so . . . so you were the one that ordered a tail on me." Ron replied, now staring holes into Jean-Pierre's stomach.

"I do not know what you're talking about." Jean-Pierre replied.

"I think you do." Ron replied.

"Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom." Jean-Pierre replied, and he stood up, turning out of the dining room, and toward the bathroom, where he closed the door behind him, and reached under the sink. He pulled from under the sink, a .40 caliber Smith and Wesson pistol, and tucked it under his belt, hidden out of sight, and then, he returned to the dining room, where Ron was in full flow with Isabelle.

"So, Jean-Pierre . . . why did you order the tail on me?" Ron asked again.

"I did not order someone to tail you, Ronald." Jean-Pierre replied.

"I don't believe you, Jean-Pierre," Ron replied, now glaring at his old friend, "Now, question two, do you know a Patrick McCloud?"

"No." Jean-Pierre lied, the veneer that covered his life, and lies beginning to erode before his eyes.

"Once again, I think you're lying . . . why don't you tell me the truth, Jean-Pierre . . . about how you received an unaccounted sum of about half a million Euros last month for nothing, about the hundred thousand you got two days before I got here, and the two million before that, and how you ended up being the sole survivor of your former company?" Ron asked, now leaning in.

Jean-Pierre had heard enough, it was obvious that Ron had done his homework, and he wasn't going to take any chances of being discovered that he was being paid off by a known drug smuggler.

"Stand up, it is time for you to leave. I am taking you to the airport." Jean-Pierre stated, pulling his weapon on Ron, who seemed to be maddingly calm.

"No, I'm not done yet." Ron replied, now standing as well, his right hand cupped, as if in a half fist.

"Yes, you are." Jean-Pierre replied.

"What about Kim?" Ron asked.

"You should've thought about that before you made my life difficult." Jean-Pierre replied, now pulling the trigger of his weapon, only to hear the ominous sound of the click of an empty chamber.

Jean-Pierre looked at Ron, who dropped three bullets on the table, he pulled the trigger again, and again, as Ron dumped three more bullets on the table, before throwing the rest in his old friend's face.

"That's what happens when you sit behind a desk, you forget things," Ron said, his voice dangerously calm, "like the weight in the hand of a gun that's loaded and one that's not."

Before Jean-Pierre could move, Ron pulled his own weapon, aimed it at Isabelle, and pulled the trigger. An ear-splitting _**BANG**_ went off, as Isabelle hit the floor, crying, and whimpering.

"_**ISABELLE!! YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!!**_" Jean-Pierre bellowed, looking at his injured wife.

"It's a flesh wound!" Ron exclaimed, his voice rising slightly, "Now, you're either gonna tell me what I want to know, or the last thing you see before I make your children orphans, is the bullet I put between her eyes . . . _**WHERE'S PATRICK McCLOUD!!**_"

Ron moved the gun from Jean-Pierre's forehead, to the writhing Isabelle, still crying on the floor.

"Your call, Jean-Pierre, do you care about the life of your wife more than your own? Time to choose." Ron stated, as he began whistling the theme from the game show _Jeopardy!_.

* * *

_Meanwhile, back at the boat:_

Kim felt a pair of rough hands grab her by the upper arm, and lead her off the boat she was on, and onto solid ground, she was led like some kind of performing animal into a small, dark room, in what could only be described as a townhouse of some kind. Kim's mind traveled to Pam, and what kinds of hell the people that kidnaped them could be doing to her right now.

"Lock them in . . . it's still a couple of hours before we can get started." said someone close to her right side. She tried to get her hands to pull the veil back, so she could see who was standing beside her, but once again, she felt like a prisoner, trapped inside her own body, unable to make her arms, or legs do what she wanted them to do.

* * *

_At the home of Jean-Pierre LaMond:_

Ron was standing behind his old friend, who was sitting in front of a computer, on it was a police file on Patrick McCloud, which listed his name, address, and current location.

"You know, this all would've went a lot easier if you helped me, rather than worried about your Goddamned desk." Ron stated, as he memorized the address.

"You have no idea how much trouble you are getting me into." Jean-Pierre replied, looking at Ron with a scowl on his face.

"You should've thought of that before you threw an old friend to the wolves," Ron replied, "give Isabelle my apologies."

Jean-Pierre whirled around, as if he was about to come out of his chair, and grab Ron by the throat, but he never got the chance, as Ron brought the gun he held in his hand across his jaw, knocking the French policeman out cold with one hit.

* * *

_At the townhouse where Kim was being held:_

A man with slicked back black hair walked up to a man who was holding a gun, and stopped.

"How's the merchandise look this time?" he asked.

"Quite nice, Mr. McCloud," the guard replied, "there's this redhead in this batch, talk about smoking hot."

"Mind on your work, and not the merchandise, get them ready to be moved downstairs." Patrick McCloud replied, as he walked into a large room, and began greeting guests, that were blissfully unaware of what lay beneath their feet, or the fact that there were other people one floor below them, who were participating in an illegal auction at this very moment.

Inside the room, Kim was still attempting to regain control of her body, when she began to smell something noxious being pumped into the room.

'_Knockout gas . . . hold your breath, Kim, hold your breath._' her mind screamed out, but again, her body was not listening to her. The last thing she saw, before she blacked out, was a man standing above her, holding a syringe in his hand.

* * *

_Just outside of the townhouse address of Patrick McCloud:_

A young man with unruly blonde hair stepped out of the taxi that had brought him here, he paid the driver, and sent him on his way. Parked outside of the townhouse, were very expensive cars, Rolls Royce, Lincoln, Mercedes-Benz, Cadillac, and several stretch limousines were parked in neat rows in a small parking lot to the side.

'_That's why Jean-Pierre didn't want me to come here . . . the man's loaded._' Ron thought to himself, as he snuck up behind the closest chauffeur, and caught him across the back of the head with a chop that sent the man crumpling to the ground, out like a lightbulb. Ron didn't want to kill the man, just borrow his clothes.

Ron walked in through the front door, this time, with a fake police identification card he had lifted from Jean-Pierre, and had affixed his own picture to, he showed it to the person at the front door, who let him pass.

'_This is just too easy, the guy at the door fell for the fake ID trick? That's so old, they were doing it when my father was going to high school_.' Ron thought to himself, as he snuck on the elevator directly in front of him, and proceeded to the lower floor, when he stepped out, he saw a large oak door, trimmed in red velvet. He walked through the door, and directly behind a middle eastern looking man.

'_What's going on here?_' Ron asked himself, as he saw a young woman in what appeared to be a glass cage of some kind, and everyone seated around the cage were making bids.

'_Okay, looks like I just hit the jackpot_.' Ron thought to himself, as he smiled widely, and pretended to be the waiter, and poured his man a glass of champagne.

'_This one is the best of the lot today, as always, we save the best for last.'_ came a woman's voice over a P.A. system.

Ron turned, and saw someone leading in a young woman, with a black veil over her head, the man pulled the veil off, and it revealed a beautiful woman with long red hair, and a pair of green eyes that Ron would be able to recognize anywhere.

"Kim." Ron whispered, as Kim turned around, and looked directly at where Ron was standing, completely dazed, and confused.

"Bid." Ron demanded, as he placed his gun to the back of the man in front of him.

'_We will start the bidding at 100,000_.' the woman said, in her businesslike voice.

"I said bid." Ron demanded, poking the man hard in the back with the barrel of the gun, and he pushed a button to his right.

'_110,000_." came the crisp voice of the woman, and Ron suddenly knew what he needed to do.

The bidding continued constantly, until the price hit 400,000 Euro, then, for some reason, the man in front of him stopped.

"Bid, God dammit." Ron spat out, but the man refused to budge, so, Ron slammed his own palm onto the registering device to his right.

"_500,000, the bid stands at 500,000_." came the woman's voice.

"_500,000 going once . . . 500,000 going twice . . . sold, for 500,000._" came the cool reply of the woman, as Kim was led out of the glass, Ron felt that he had finally done it, he had finally got Kim back.

"Let's go and pick up our winnings." Ron stated, as he led his captive out at gunpoint.

Once outside of the door, Ron felt something heavy hit him in the back of the head, and the last thing he saw, before blacking out, was Kim, being led out of the area, by the person he had used as his dupe.

"Take him to the basement." came a gruff voice that rang into Ron's ears, before he finally lost consciousness.

'_What happened?_' his mind screamed out, as he finally went completely out.

* * *

_What happened indeed, looks like Ron was figured out, folks._

_Stay tuned, folks, it's going to definitely get exciting now, as there is two more chapters left, then, we can call it a story._

_As I said at the beginning of this one, it was going to definitely be shorter than anything I have written before on my own, so, I will bring this one to an end with the next two chapters, then, there will be an epilogue that will round this one out_.

_As always, keep the reviews coming,_

_**Doug**_


	8. Chapter 7: Crackdown On The Seine

**Chapter 7**

**Crackdown On The Seine**

_**Big Balls**_

_by_

_**AC/DC**_

_Well, I'm ever upper class high society,_

_God's gift to ballroom notoriety,_

_And I always fill my ballroom, the event is never small,_

_The social pages say I got the biggest balls of all,_

_I got big balls, I got big balls,_

_And they're such big balls, they're dirty big balls,_

_And he's got big balls, and she's got big balls,_

_But we've got the biggest balls of them all,_

_My balls are always bouncing, and my ballroom's always full,_

_And everyone comes, and comes again,_

_If your name is on the guest list, no one can take you higher,_

_Everybody says I've got great balls of fire,_

_I got big balls, oh, I got big balls,_

_And they're such big balls, dirty big balls,_

_He's got big balls, she's got big balls,_

_But we've got the biggest balls of them all,_

_Some balls are held for charity, and some for fancy dress,_

_But when they're held for pleasure, they're the balls that I like best,_

_My balls are always bouncing, to the left, and to the right,_

_It's my belief that my big balls should be held every night, __**OI!**_

_We got big balls, we got big balls,_

_We got big balls, dirty big balls,_

_He's got big balls, she's got big balls,_

_But we've got the biggest balls of them all._

Ron woke up hanging from a set of handcuffs on a steam pipe in what could only be described as a boiler room of some kind.

'_Where the hell am I?_' he thought to himself, when a man with slicked back long black hair walked up to him, with the Id card he used to get into the townhouse in his hand.

"So, who are you?" the man asked. "We can rule this guy out." he peeled off the outer lamination of the card, and pulled Ron's picture off the ID, smiling.

"Does it matter?" Ron asked, looking at the man carefully.

"Okay, Mr. '_Does it matter_,' if it doesn't matter to you, why should it matter to me? But, one question I would like answered, why are you here?" the man asked.

"The woman, the last one downstairs," Ron began, "that's my fiancee, and I want her back."

"Sorry," the man replied, "this is a very elite business I run, with a very elite clientele. No refunds, no returns, all sales are final."

"Then you'd better kill me, because I will come back, and keep coming back, until I get answers." Ron replied through gritted teeth.

"Not a problem." the man replied, then, turning to one of his bodyguards, he stated, quite clearly, "Kill him quietly, I have guests upstairs."

The man, who Ron guessed to be his elusive Patrick McCloud turned, and left, at the same time, Ron felt something be slipped around his neck, and tightened.

It was now, or never for Ron, he had to act to keep from ending up dead, like God knows how many others that have tried to put a stop to this man, he allowed the man to tighten the rope around his neck, before he began placing all of his weight on the pipe he was handcuffed to, the pipe creaked, and groaned, before coming apart at the joint with a loud torquing of metal, the pipe hit the man in front of him on top of the head, knocking him back, dazed, and confused, allowing Ron to turn his attention to the man that was choking him, he slipped around, rendering the rope around his neck useless.

"Open up, and say '_ahh,_' motherfucker." Ron said in a dry manner, before kicking the man in the mouth, sending teeth flying.

The man was quick to regain his feet, and pull a gun, Ron reacted instinctively, grabbing the man by the wrist, and pushing the gun away from him, and down onto a steel rail hard enough for the man to let go.

Ron picked up the gun, and fired three shots into the man charging him, the man fell backwards, dead from a direct shot to the heart. Ron then turned his attention to the man he had knocked silly with the pipe, he turned, and fired once, the bullet found its mark in the forehead, killing the man instantly.

Ron reached into the man's pocket, and pulled out the keys to the handcuffs around his wrists, unshackling himself, he then picked up the other gun, as he had ran out of ammunition in the first gun, he looked closely at this one, and saw eight shots remaining.

'_What do these guys do with these guns, besides hit people over the head with them?_' Ron thought, as he took the gun in his hand, and headed toward the only door in the area.

* * *

_On the same floor, near an elevator:_

Patrick McCloud looked toward the door, where only a couple seconds ago, he had heard gunshots.

"Go back there, and ask those dumb asses what part of '_quietly_' they didn't understand?" he asked, watching his head guard walk toward the door, his head snapped back violently, as a shot rang out, and Ron suddenly burst out the door, walking at a very fast pace toward the now scared McCloud.

"Please, please understand, it was just business." McCloud said, Ron, however, didn't reply, instead, he pulled the trigger of the .40 caliber pistol in his hand, sending a bullet into the right shoulder of his prey.

"Please, I have a wife too, please . . ." McCloud shouted, instead, Ron fired again, this time, hitting his prey in the left knee, still with a murderous look on his face.

"There's a boat on the jetty . . . if you move quickly, you might catch it." McCloud finally said, to which, Ron nodded.

"Please, you must understand, it was just business, that's all . . . it was nothing personal." McCloud repeated.

"It's personal to me, you made it personal." Ron replied, before unloading the gun on his prey, and wiping it clean of all prints, before disposing it beside the body.

Ron took the stairs up to the ground floor, rather than take the elevator, and risk being withheld by the police, he then slipped out of the back door, just as the elevator opened on the ground floor, apparently, someone was looking in that direction, because Ron heard the chilling blood curdling scream of terror from a woman, before the door closed behind him.

* * *

_On a yacht tied to a jetty on the Seine River:_

A tall, Middle Eastern looking man pulled Kim, along with three other women onto the 40 foot yacht in front of him, and led them toward a stateroom somewhere, Kim was unsure of where, because her mind was still in that hazy fog that is associated with coming down from a forced drug injection, but she could hear fast talking in Arabic.

"_Take them to the Sheik, quickly_." the man said, pushing Kim off onto the man closest to him.

* * *

_On a bridge overlooking the Seine River:_

Ron looked down into the river, trying to time his jump onto the yacht that had just pulled off the jetty near the townhouse, there was going to be no stopping him from getting Kim, he was determined to see that no one on board, except Kim, and the other girls that were forced from their homes were walking off.

As the bridge of the yacht passed under the bridge, Ron prepared to jump, when the after deck showed itself, Ron jumped, and landed hard on some kind of hatch, his leg rolled underneath him, causing him to violently twist his ankle, he shook off the pain, and grabbed the man in front of him walking the deck, he laced his arm around the man's neck, and began to pull up on his head, strangling the man who was now dangling off the deck, making gurgling noises in his throat, Ron quickly, and violently jerked his arm in an upward direction, and, with a loud snapping of vertebrae, the man went limp in Ron's arm, dead from a broken neck.

Ron moved with the quiet stealth of a ninja, as he moved toward a ladder well that led down to the lower decks, he looked down it, and saw a man with an MP5 in his hand, Ron grabbed onto a channel iron in the ceiling, and kicked the man hard in the chest with both legs as he turned to look at what was making the soft noises to his right, Ron then punched the man twice, before tossing him overboard, and into the frigid waters of the river, Ron picked up the machine pistol he had dropped when Ron kicked him, pulled back the slide, and let it set with a round in the chamber, before walking into a passageway that was much smaller than any other hallway he had walked through before, it was barely enough for one person to walk through at one time.

Ron could hear commotion further up the corridor, and got below a small porthole in the door in front of him, and pulled the .40 caliber he had lifted from the first guard, looking into the chamber to make sure it was loaded, he knelt down, until he saw the door starting to open slowly, he snapped up to his feet quickly, and fired off a shot, it went through the glass porthole in the door, and lodged into the skull of the man trying to walk through the door, looking for Ron, who leaned down, and pulled out the full magazine from the MP5 he had in his arms, before tossing aside the .40 caliber in his hand, and taking the handgun the man had wedged in the waistband of his pants, Ron stuck the handgun in the waistband of his pants, and continued down the hallway, and into what appeared to be a large office, painted a brilliant, almost blinding white.

The sounds of an MP5 being discharged quickly filled his ears, he just barely missed being hit in the head with a bullet, and was grazed in the arm.

"Oh, you just signed your own death warrant." Ron replied, now placing the MP5 on the sofa in front of him, and pulling from the table beside him, a large butchers knife, he smiled somewhat sadistically, while beckoning the man to come closer with his free hand.

The man laid down the MP5, and pulled from a scabbard on his belt, a large Bowie knife.

"Let's play." Ron replied, and within seconds, there was a huge knife battle in the confining space of the room they were in, with neither getting the upper hand, until Ron finally struck, slicing the man across the chest with the knife, and causing him to stagger back, Ron took full advantage, taking a step forward, and lodging the butchers knife up to the hilt into the mans chest, ending his life where he stood.

"Say goodnight, Peter Pan." Ron said, taking the Bowie Knife from the man, and placing it in a pocket of his ever present black leather trenchcoat. Ron then looked, and saw the silhouette of a man, in between two panes of frosted glass.

'_This is too good to pass up . . . get ready to eat your heart out, John Wayne._' he thought, as he ran up to the sofa in front of the large pane of glass, and busted through it like a large, heavy stone.

Ron reached out, grabbing the man by the neck, and the abdomen, dragging him to the ground, as his body suddenly became dead weight. Pulling both to the ground hard.

Ron stood up, shaking his head clear as he did so, the man had in his hand, a knife with a radically curved blade, Ron reached to a cabinet, rather than pull out the Bowie knife, and grabbed a two magnum champagne bottle, breaking it on a solid steel table as he moved close.

The man charged, and cut Ron across the abdomen smiling, and chuckling sadistically as he attempted to charge again.

Ron grabbed the arm holding the knife only a fraction of an inch from his nose, as he kicked the man in the groin, sending the man to the deck with a howl of pain.

"Won't be using that anymore." Ron said, as he drove his foot into the man's chest, breaking several ribs in the process, he then pulled the man up, and buried the broken glass bottle into the man's shoulder, before pulling the knife from his hand, and burying it into the man's neck, sending him to the deck, gurgling, and choking on his own blood.

Ron then reached down, and picked up the gun that had become dislodged from his pants when he tackled the man to the deck, he cocked the hammer back, and opened the huge white double doors in front of him, and came face-to-face with an older man, holding a knife to Kim's throat, Ron leveled off the handgun to the man's forehead, with nothing but pure hatred in his eyes.

* * *

_In the room at the same time:_

Kim saw the face of Ron in front of her, the look on her face made her blood run cold.

'_My God, he is pissed._' she thought, as she stared into the cold, unfeeling eyes of the man she was going to marry.

* * *

_Meanwhile:_

Ron was staring the man down hard, refusing to give an inch, finally, the Sheik gave Ron the opening he was looking for, when he spoke.

"We can nego . . . " he began, but that was all he got out, as Ron fired the gun in his hand, sending the Sheik backward, as Kim dropped and flung herself the other direction, away from the blade that was once at her neck.

"Negotiations failed." Ron said, completely devoid of any feeling, or remorse, as he stared at the man on the floor, his eyes quickly found Kim, who was now on her feet.

"Ron?" She asked, her voice weak from days of misuse.

"It's me, KP . . . I told you I'd come for you." Ron replied, now holding onto his abdomen, which was bleeding anew.

"You came for me." Kim said, now running to Ron, who took her in his arms, and held her as if he was never going to hold her again.

"I promised you that I would, KP . . . did you ever doubt me?" Ron asked.

"What about Pam?" Kim asked.

"She didn't make it, Kim." Ron replied, feeling that lead weight tearing at his stomach, like someone had ripped out his guts, and replaced them with a ton of lead, his mouth became very dry, and he wanted to scream out, anything to get rid of the bad feeling he had coursing through his veins at this moment, about all of the people he had killed to get this far, the friends he alienated, the people he had hurt that had no part in what he was after, how many times had Ron told himself in the past that these were collateral damages, people that were expendable. But now, they seemed a lot more. Perhaps, in retrospect, Ron had figured that it was due to his retirement that he had begun to feel like he did, perhaps it was age, and wisdom finally setting in, as his dad had told him, all those years ago, when his innocence was still in tact, when Kim still had her innocence, and naivete. Oh, how Ron longed for those days again, when everything was as it had always been, he was the sidekick, content to remain in the shadows, and Kim took all the glory, when he did all of his work, behind the scenes, and no one ever knew what he did, or said during this time, to be as it was three days ago, before Kim left for Paris.

But Ron knew he couldn't change the past, no matter how much he wanted to. He could, however, continue to make his world a better place, both for himself, and the woman he loved more than his own life. The woman he held in his arms right now.

* * *

_And that just about does it, still got the Epilogue to go, and this one will be done, all that's left is Ron coming home, and what happened to Jean-Pierre, and Ron's wedding to Kim, trust me, it'll all appear in the Epilogue, so, keep on reading._

_As always, keep the reviews coming,_

**_Doug_**


End file.
